Finally I went back to Paris in September to see him, persuaded that I could settle everything amicably14 in five minutes’ talk: he must remember our agreement.
I found him well in health, but childishly annoyed that my play was going to be produced and resolved to get all the money he could from me by hook or by crook15. I never met such persistence16 in demands. I could only settle with him decently by paying him a further sum, which I did.
In the course of this bargaining and begging I realised that contrary to my previous opinion he was not gifted as a friend, and did not attribute any importance to friendship. His affection for Bosie Douglas even had given place to hatred17: indeed his liking18 for him had never been founded on understanding or admiration19; it was almost wholly snobbish20: he loved the title, the romantic name — Lord Alfred Douglas. Robert Ross was the only friend of whom he always spoke21 with liking and appreciation22: “One of the wittiest23 of men,” he used to call him and would jest at his handwriting, which was peculiarly bad, but always good-naturedly; “a letter merely shows that Bobbie has something to conceal”; but he would add, “how kind he is, how good,” as if Ross’s devotion surprised him, as in fact it did. Ross has since told me that Oscar never cared much for him. Indeed Oscar cared so little for anyone that an unselfish affection astonished him beyond measure: he could find in himself no explanation of it. His vanity was always more active than his gratitude24, as indeed it is with most of us. Now and then when Ross played mentor25 or took him to task, he became prickly at once and would retort: “Really, Bobbie, you ride the high horse so well, and so willingly, it seems a pity that you never tried Pegasus”— not a sneer26 exactly, but a rap on the knuckles27 to call his monitor to order. Like most men of charming manners, Oscar was selfish and self-centred, too convinced of his own importance to spend much thought on others; yet generous to the needy28 and kind to all.
After my return to London he kept on begging for money by almost every post. As soon as my play was advertised I found myself dunned and persecuted29 by a horde30 of people who declared that Oscar had sold them the scenario he afterwards sold to me.53 Several of them threatened to get injunctions to prevent me staging my play, “Mr. and Mrs. Daventry,” if I did not first settle with them. Naturally, I wrote rather sharply to Oscar for having led me into this hornets’ nest.
It was in the midst of all this unpleasantness that I heard from Turner, in October, I believe, that Oscar was seriously ill, and that if I owed him money, as he asserted, it would be a kindness to send it, as he was in great need. The letter found me in bed. I could not say now whether I answered it or not: it made me impatient; his friends must have known that I owed Oscar nothing; but later I received a telegram from Ross saying that Oscar was not expected to live. I was ill and unable to move, or I should have gone at once to Paris. As it was I sent for my friend, Bell, gave him some money and a cheque, and begged him to go across and let me know if Oscar were really in danger, which I could hardly believe. As luck would have it, the next afternoon, when I hoped Bell had started, his wife came to tell me that he had had a severe asthmatic attack, but would cross as soon as he dared.
I was too hard up myself to wire money that might not be needed, and Oscar had cried “wolf” about his health too often to be a credible31 witness. Yet I was dissatisfied with myself and anxious for Bell to start.
Day after day passed in troubled doubts and fears; but it was not long when a period was put to all my anxiety. A telegram came telling me he was dead. I could hardly believe my eyes: it seemed incredible — the fount of joy and gaiety; the delightful3 source of intellectual vivacity32 and interest stilled forever. The world went greyer to me because of Oscar Wilde’s death.
Months afterwards Robert Ross gave me the particulars of his last illness.
Ross went to Paris in October: as soon as he saw Oscar, he was shocked by the change in his appearance: he insisted on taking him to a doctor; but to his surprise the doctor saw no ground for immediate33 alarm: if Oscar would only stop drinking wine and a fortiori spirits, he might live for years: absinthe was absolutely forbidden. But Oscar paid no heed34 to the warning and Ross could only take him for drives whenever the weather permitted and seek to amuse him harmlessly.
The will to live had almost left Oscar: so long as he could live pleasantly and without effort he was content; but as soon as ill-health came, or pain, or even discomfort35, he grew impatient for deliverance.
But to the last he kept his joyous36 humour and charming gaiety. His disease brought with it a certain irritation37 of the skin, annoying rather than painful. Meeting Ross one morning after a day’s separation he apologised for scratching himself:
“Really,” he exclaimed, “I’m more like a great ape than ever; but I hope you’ll give me a lunch, Bobbie, and not a nut.”
On one of the last drives with this friend he asked for champagne38 and when it was brought declared that he was dying as he had lived, “beyond his means”— his happy humour lighting39 up even his last hours.
Early in November Ross left Paris to go down to the Riviera with his mother: for Reggie Turner had undertaken to stay with Oscar. Reggie Turner describes how he grew gradually feebler and feebler, though to the end flashes of the old humour would astonish his attendants. He persisted in saying that Reggie, with his perpetual prohibitions40, was qualifying for a doctor. “When you can refuse bread to the hungry, Reggie,” he would say, “and drink to the thirsty, you can apply for your diploma.”
Towards the end of November Reggie wired for Ross and Ross left everything and reached Paris next day.
When all was over he wrote to a friend giving him a very complete account of the last hours of Oscar Wilde; that account he generously allows me to reproduce and it will be found word for word in the Appendix; it is too long and too detailed41 to be used here.
Ross’s letter should be read by the student; but several touches in it are too timid; certain experiences that should be put in high relief are slurred42 over: in conversation with me he told more and told it better.
For example, when talking of his drives with Oscar, he mentions casually43 that Oscar “insisted on drinking absinthe,” and leaves it at that. The truth is that Oscar stopped the victoria at almost the first café, got down and had an absinthe. Two or three hundred yards further on, he stopped the carriage again to have another absinthe: at the next stoppage a few minutes later Ross ventured to remonstrate44:
“You’ll kill yourself, Oscar,” he cried, “you know the doctors said absinthe was poison to you!”
Oscar stopped on the sidewalk:
“And what have I to live for, Bobbie?” he asked gravely. And Ross looking at him and noting the wreck45 — the symptoms of old age and broken health — could only bow his head and walk on with him in silence. What indeed had he to live for who had abandoned all the fair uses of life?
The second scene is horrible: but is, so to speak, the inevitable46 resultant of the first, and has its own awful moral. Ross tells how he came one morning to Oscar’s death-bed and found him practically insensible: he describes the dreadful loud death-rattle of his breath, and says: “terrible offices had to be carried out.”
The truth is still more appalling47. Oscar had eaten too much and drunk too much almost habitually48 ever since the catastrophe49 in Naples. The dreadful disease from which he was suffering, or from the after effects of which he was suffering, weakens all the tissues of the body, and this weakness is aggravated50 by drinking wine and still more by drinking spirits. Suddenly, as the two friends sat by the bedside in sorrowful anxiety, there was a loud explosion: mucus poured out of Oscar’s mouth and nose, and —
Even the bedding had to be burned.
If it is true that all those who draw the sword shall perish by the sword, it is no less certain that all those who live for the body shall perish by the body, and there is no death more degrading.
* * * * *
One more scene, and this the last, and I shall have done.
When Robert Ross was arranging to bury Oscar at Bagneux he had already made up his mind as soon as he could to transfer his body to Père Lachaise and erect51 over his remains52 some worthy53 memorial. It became the purpose of his life to pay his friend’s debts, annul54 his bankruptcy55, and publish his books in suitable manner; in fine to clear Oscar’s memory from obloquy56 while leaving to his lovable spirit the shining raiment of immortality57. In a few years he had accomplished58 all but one part of his high task. He had not only paid off all Oscar Wilde’s debts; but he had managed to remit59 thousands of pounds yearly to his children, and had established his popularity on the widest and surest foundation.
He crossed to Paris with Oscar’s son, Vyvyan, to render the last service to his friend. When preparing the body for the grave years before Ross had taken medical advice as to what should be done to make his purpose possible. The doctors told him to put Wilde’s body in quicklime, like the body of the man in “The Ballad60 of Reading Gaol61.” The quicklime, they said, would consume the flesh and leave the white bones — the skeleton — intact, which could then be moved easily.
To his horror, when the grave was opened, Ross found that the quicklime, instead of destroying the flesh, had preserved it. Oscar’s face was recognisable, only his hair and beard had grown long. At once Ross sent the son away, and when the sextons were about to use their shovels62, he ordered them to desist, and descending63 into the grave, moved the body with his own hands into the new coffin64 in loving reverence65.
Those who hold our mortal vesture in respect for the sake of the spirit will know how to thank Robert Ross for the supreme66 devotion he showed to his friend’s remains: in his case at least love was stronger than death.
One can be sure, too, that the man who won such fervid67 self-denying tenderness, had deserved it, called it forth68 by charm of companionship, or magic of loving intercourse69.
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1
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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snobbish
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| adj.势利的，谄上欺下的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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wittiest
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| 机智的，言辞巧妙的，情趣横生的( witty的最高级 ) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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42
slurred
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| 含糊地说出( slur的过去式和过去分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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50
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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51
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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52
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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annul
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| v.宣告…无效，取消，废止 | |
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55
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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obloquy
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| n.斥责，大骂 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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remit
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| v.汇款，汇寄；豁免（债务），免除（处罚等） | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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62
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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